by Sonja Stone
“I’d invite you along, but we’re going to my grandmother’s and she doesn’t do well with new people.”
“Don’t worry about Nadia. I’ll be here.” Damon smiled. “I won’t let her out of my sight.” He slid his hand over hers.
A flash of anger crossed Jack’s face; just as quickly, he returned to neutral. Nadia knew it was petty, but she liked it.
Nadia extracted her hand from Damon’s as she answered, “I would never impose on your family. Anyway, I’ve already made plans for the weekend. Sensei’s going over some advanced weaponry with me. I couldn’t cancel this late even if I wanted to; it would be rude.” She forced a smile and tried to ignore the annoying voice in her head.
It kept whispering: Jack and Jennifer; Matthew and Paige.
43
JACK
SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 20
Ten minutes after their encounter on the patio, thoroughly disgusted with both himself and his traitor girlfriend, Jack dumped his uneaten lunch into the trash and rushed back to his dorm. He’d had one simple task: keep an eye on Nadia Riley. Bad enough he’d let her successfully complete a brush-pass at the dance last night, but then, like an idiot, he’d tried to rationalize it. He’d actually considered the possibility that the waiter made a mistake—that he mistook her for someone else. After he watched Nadia put the napkin in her purse! There was no reasonable explanation for the exchange, but a huge piece of him couldn’t believe what he’d seen.
Maybe I don’t want to admit I was wrong about her.
Jack slammed his bedroom door. His head throbbed. He wanted to punch something—put his fist through a wall. An immature, overly emotional response, all because he got played. She’d lied to him, betrayed everything he believed in. Acted like she wanted him.
He strode to his desk and grabbed a book from the shelf. Their kiss last night—it felt so real. The heat of her mouth as his lips hovered over hers. His hand buried in her thick hair. Her body against his, her hands on his neck, her scent, the softness of her skin. Finally, contact: deep and desperate. It wasn’t until she pulled away that he realized they were surrounded by people. He was furious with himself for losing control. But he was so drawn to her. He wanted more.
This isn’t about me being wrong. This is about me falling for her. The pain he now experienced knowing she was the traitor forced him to admit that his feelings ran much deeper than a simple crush. And he’d just revealed his emotional state to his entire team.
And what the hell is Damon’s problem? Is he hitting on her?
He tried to refocus on his anger. He’d rather be outraged than heartbroken. And as much as he wanted to explain away her dead drop, he couldn’t. He knew the critical nature of the mission because he’d done something totally inappropriate: he’d looked at the disc himself.
In all his time at the Academy he’d never so much as glanced at the information he was sent to collect. The survival courses were staged—simulated missions—but still, not a peek. Until last night. He’d opened the disc on his laptop—it wasn’t even encrypted. The file contained detailed schematics of a one-man fighter jet.
An hour had passed before it occurred to him to stake out her dorm. Someone else would be looking for the package. At 0115 he’d snuck from his room, concealed himself in the tall grass and waited, muscles tensed, ready to attack. The sprinklers turned on just before daybreak, soaking him. Now he was stiff, tired and disgusted with himself for acting like such an amateur. He’d had one chance to discover the identity of the receiving agent, and he blew it.
He shook his head. I can’t believe I admired her dedication. She wasn’t working hard to catch up—just reviewing skills she already knew.
But things were looking up. Nadia was finally wearing the earrings, and Jack couldn’t wait to check the sound quality of Samuel’s bug.
He’d hidden the receiver in a book Noah would never touch, carved out the center with a razor blade and buried the device inside. Jack shoved The Anthology of Early American Literature into his bag and jogged to the language lab, where no one would give headphones a second thought.
Back against the wall, he pulled up the Spanish program, just to be safe, and settled into his chair. With the book on the desk in front of him, he plugged the headphones into the receiver.
Nadia’s conversation rang loud and clear.
Alan spoke first. “We will meet you at the library.”
A moment later, Libby whispered into the microphone. “What’re you gonna do about him?”
“He asked me to pretend it never happened,” Nadia answered.
“How awkward.”
“I know. I wish he’d never said anything.”
“I’m sure it’ll blow over.”
“I hope so. Did you see Jack dancing with Jennifer last night?” Nadia whispered.
“No, but I bet she was like white on rice.”
“I hate that they’re driving together.”
“I don’t blame you there.”
Jack pulled the headphones from his ears. What a waste of time. Obviously, Nadia wasn’t going to share anything significant with Libby, and he didn’t want to hear her lies about how much she liked him. As far as Nadia was concerned, he was just part of her cover.
The next morning, a half hour before Dean Wolfe arrived on campus, Jack went to Hopi Hall. He paced the sitting room, glancing at his watch every few minutes. When the dean arrived, Jack followed him into his office, uninvited, and closed the door.
“Do you have new information?” Wolfe opened his briefcase and stacked several files onto his desk.
“Your instincts were right. Nadia’s the double. I intercepted a dead drop.”
Dean Wolfe stopped shuffling his papers and looked up. “What?”
“Here.” Jack handed him the disc.
“Did you look at it?”
“No,” Jack lied, maintaining eye contact.
“Do you know who was meant to retrieve the disc?”
Jack shook his head. He wasn’t about to tell Dean Wolfe how he’d botched that. “I’m confident Hashimoto Sensei is her handling agent. She’s staying here for Thanksgiving and they’ve scheduled training time.”
“Can you stay for the holiday?” Dean Wolfe asked.
“Not without telling my parents what we do here.”
“I understand. Good work with this disc, Jack. I’m impressed.”
Jack lowered his eyes as he accepted the compliment. At least something good comes of this.
“I need to share something with you. Sit down.” Dean Wolfe pulled a digital recorder from his briefcase.
Uh-oh. He looks concerned. Jack’s heartbeat quickened. Is it possible he picked up the transmission from the earrings? Jack settled into a wingback chair. Calm down. Samuel wouldn’t be so careless.
The Dean pressed a button, and a deep, synthesized voice said, “The rook sings at first light.”
Jack opened his mouth and Wolfe held up his hand. Nadia answered, “Can you repeat that?”
The message repeated, and then, “Prepare for the meet.”
Wolfe stopped the tape. “She received this call a few weeks ago. Apparently, he was referring to the dance.”
And I’m just now hearing it? For weeks I’ve been trying to prove her innocence. Jack took a deep breath and exhaled his anger before he spoke. “Sir, with all respect, the more information you share with me, the faster we can get this done.”
“I share what I am authorized to share.”
“Can you arrest her? Between that phone call and this disc—”
“We weren’t able to trace the number. She could claim the message was a joke. And, obviously, I haven’t reviewed the disc. For all I know, it’s a recipe for chocolate-chip cookies.”
“I understand,” Jack said. She’s a traitor! But he couldn’t reveal anything more without incriminating himself. “What’s our next move?”
“You’re on the right track. Stay close; keep me informed.”
Jack hesi
tated, trying to decide whether or not to tell Wolfe about the earrings. He should’ve cleared it with him first, but he’d been so excited about doing actual undercover work that he hadn’t bothered with the proper channels.
No, that was a lie. He hadn’t asked for permission because he didn’t want the Dean to turn him down. Jack wanted to present irrefutable evidence one way or the other. He wanted to be a hero. To please Dean Wolfe, to clear Nadia’s name.
“Is there something else?” Wolfe asked.
“No, sir,” Jack answered.
“Then close the door on your way out.”
44
NADIA
WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 23
Classes ended early on Wednesday and the students traveling home trickled off campus, a handful at a time, until only a few remained. Both vans drove back and forth to the airport all afternoon, and most of the cars got checked out for the weekend. Nadia sat on the patio high above campus, watching the scene.
Nothing felt right. The air wasn’t sharp, the leaves didn’t turn. Thanksgiving in Virginia meant thick sweaters and crackling fires. She and her dad would walk through the neighborhood and pick their favorite tree. Hers would be the maple on the corner, bright orange and crimson. He’d choose an oak—deep rust and chocolate brown. Right now her mom was probably baking: apple and pumpkin pies, a cranberry-pear crisp. Tonight they’d pop popcorn and watch a movie.
After an hour or so, Damon joined her. “You okay?” He gave her ponytail a gentle tug.
“A little homesick.”
Damon stared for a moment. “That’s not all.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Come on. You’re worried about Jack and Jennifer.”
“No, I’m not,” Nadia lied.
“Please,” Damon said. “You can’t con a con. Do you trust him?”
“Sure,” she answered. But she wasn’t sure, and Damon probably knew it. “I have no reason not to.” Nadia searched Damon’s face to see if he knew something about Jack that she didn’t. He revealed nothing. Come to think of it, I never know what he’s thinking.
“Jack has no idea how lucky he is.”
“Yeah? Is that why you were antagonizing him the other day?”
Damon laughed. “I’m just playing with him. He’s got a jealous streak; makes him an easy target. Listen, if he so much as brushes against her, I’ll snap his neck.”
Now Nadia laughed. “I appreciate that. How’s everything going with Niyuri?”
Damon nodded. “She’s a sweetheart. I don’t know why she’s wasting time on a guy like me.”
“None of us do. You’re passable at best.”
He smiled and turned toward her, staring so intently they might’ve been the last two people on earth. “You busy all weekend?”
How does he do that? “I think so. Why, what’s up?”
“I thought you and I might hike into the desert for an overnight. Now, I won’t allow firearms. I can’t have you drugging me. Or yourself. But no chaperones, either.” He winked at her. “And you know what they say: what happens in the desert stays in the desert.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s Vegas. Nice try, though.”
“Hey, fish gotta swim.”
“Sounds like fun, but I can’t. Unless Sensei cancels on me, which he’s never done.”
“You two are awfully tight.” His tone was innocent; for once, no innuendo.
Nadia smiled. “Yeah, he’s been so generous with his time. And his self-discipline is fascinating. He showed me how to slow my heart rate when I’m stressed—I can teach you if you want.”
“That’d be cool.”
“He answers my questions before I ask, which is good, because I’m not allowed to ask questions.” She laughed. “He’s almost like a spiritual advisor. This may come as a surprise to you, but after the first survival course, I didn’t think I was gonna make it. If not for Sensei, I probably would’ve been kicked out by now.”
“Nah, you’re good,” Damon said. “It’s nice you have him, though.”
“How about you? You have anyone?”
He shook his head. “I’ve always been kind of a loner. I guess my brother and I were close.”
“I didn’t know you had a brother.”
“I don’t.” Damon paused. “Anymore.”
“What?”
He turned his eyes to the empty lawn. “He died.”
Nadia’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my God.”
“Since then, I don’t know . . .” His voice drifted off. “I have a hard time. You know, making connections.”
She wanted to say something—she didn’t want Damon to think he couldn’t talk to her. But what do I say? I understand? Of course she didn’t understand. For lack of anything better, she asked, “What was his name?”
“Gabriel.”
A heavy pause followed the word. “Do you want to talk about it?”
He didn’t answer. He stared across the field, looked up at the sky. Avoided her eyes. Finally, he said, “I don’t talk about it.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” They sat in silence. A soft breeze carried the sweet smell of the desert onto the patio. Nadia brushed a few hairs from her face.
He cleared his throat. “It was a hit-and-run.”
“Oh, Damon.” She turned in her seat to face him.
He was quiet for a long, long time. “We were at the playground near our house. He was eight years old.” Damon’s jaw tightened. A few moments later, he continued, “The car just took off.” He picked at a flake of loose paint on his chair.
Nadia focused on keeping her body still. Any movement might bring him back to the present, remind him that he didn’t want to talk. She had a thousand questions: What happened? Did the police find them? Are they in jail?
“I heard him—I heard a scream. The brakes screeching. Then the . . . a thud.” He met her eyes, then quickly looked back at his chair. “I called 911. They sent an ambulance.” He continued picking at the paint, sending tiny flurries of black enamel onto the patio. “He was still alive when we reached the hospital. He was in surgery for hours. But in the end, his little body just couldn’t hang on.”
She wanted to scoot her chair closer to his, to lessen the space between them.
“My mom never got to say goodbye.” He shook his head. “I never got to say goodbye.”
“Oh, Damon,” she whispered. Her eyes stung.
He scraped the paint from under his thumbnail and winced. He opened his mouth, closed it again. A minute later he continued, “But the worst part, worse than waiting at the hospital, not knowing if he’d live or die—the absolute worst part is that it was completely my fault.”
“No,” Nadia said. “I know that’s not true.”
“I haven’t told you everything.” Damon cleared his throat. “I took him to the park. I was supposed to be watching him. I wasn’t paying attention. I was screwing around on my phone. I had my back to him, Nadia.”
“Damon, I—”
“There was no one else there. It was cold and pissing rain and he kept asking me to push him on the swing. I turned around to tell him to quit bugging me.” His voice tightened. “That’s when I noticed the car. Before it happened. It registered in the back of my mind that something was off. This SUV swerved over the line, skimmed the curb. I figured the driver was messing with his phone, or the radio . . . I don’t know. He wasn’t going that fast. There were two other men in the car—I assumed somebody would be watching the road. If I’d paid any attention at all to what was going on around me, Gabriel would still be alive.”
Nadia took his hand. That’s why he notices everything. She tried to keep her voice steady. “You have to know it wasn’t your fault.” The comment sounded hollow. Meaningless, and not at all comforting.
“Of course it was. I should’ve called the police before it happened, reported the car. Told Gabriel to stay away from the road.”
“I’m so sorry.” She wiped at her eyes.
“I
f I had just paid attention.” He turned toward the open lawn. His eyes narrowed as he shook his head. “I promise you this: that is the last detail I will ever ignore.”
His words hung in the air like a heavy cloud. The gentle breeze that swept through campus didn’t move them. The seconds grew into minutes as she and Damon sat in silence. The minutes piled on top of each other like rocks, each individual one adding to the weight of the whole. Her sadness spread deeper inside, and for that she felt guilty. What right do I have to be sad about one stupid holiday when Damon will never see his brother again?
After a long time, Damon sighed. He cleared his throat. “I think I’m gonna go for a run before dinner. Maybe we can catch a movie in the lounge tonight?”
“Sure. Whatever you want.”
But that was the last Nadia saw of him for the next four days.
45
LIBBY
WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 23
Wednesday afternoon, Libby gathered her bags—packed with her favorite cool-weather sweaters—and caught the last shuttle to the airport with five of her schoolmates. She clutched her boarding pass in her hand and complained to anyone who would listen that she was not pleased about taking the red eye. I mean, come on. A flight at two-o’clock in the morning? It was inhumane. Normally, she didn’t like to complain. The world had enough negativity without her adding to the heap. But extenuating circumstances called for extenuating measures.
The last of her shuttle companions boarded his plane at nine-fifty that night. Libby breathed a heavy sigh of relief, dropped her boarding pass in the waste basket and took the mile-long escalator downstairs to the rental car desk. Twenty-seven minutes later, she pulled onto I-10 East toward Tucson.
Traffic thinned near the south end of Phoenix and Libby stopped to grab a bite. While she waited for her order, she went to the ladies’ room to braid her hair. She fixed it tight against her skull and pinned it in place.
